Rensley lay staring at the bedpost, and said only: — “Fanshawe forced the quarrel on to me.”
“God’s life, were you not pledged to Merriot?”
“Oh ay, you’re mighty anxious to see him trounced, aren’t you?”
“To hell with that!” All Mr Markham’s nattering deference towards his friend was fast departing. “Here’s Belfort and Devereux mighty haughty — damme, they’ve reason! — and say their man won’t fight. And Jessup and I have to make your excuses for you, and look a pair of fools! You make us ridiculous, Rensley, curse it!”
Mr Rensley received this in silence.
“Burn it, you must needs spoil all!” Markham said in disgust. “What madness took you?”
“I tell you it was forced on me!” Rensley exploded.
“Forced be damned! You were pledged to meet Merriot, and Fanshawe must have known it.”
Mr Rensley raised himself on his sound elbow. “What, you’d have me swallow a blow in the face, would you? Ay, I make no doubt you’d take it!”
“Oh, I’ll leave you!” Markham said, and swung round on his heel.